


MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction)

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: And u know what? That’s valid, Attempt at Humor, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies!HyunSung, Featuring Chan and...more fluffy antics, Fluff, M/M, Now with part 2!!!, Past Canon Compliant, Short sweet n to the hyunsung point, Trainee!Jisung, and that benefit is....., competitive otp, dumbasses with benefits, hand holding, hyunsung are rivals here, im listening to pacemaker rn and trying not to go feral, past canon divergence, theyre enemies....who also hold hands, this isnt even enemies to friends lmao, trainee!hyunjin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: “It's ok, Jisung.” Hyunjin mumbled, words slightly muffled from the dopey smile on his lips. “I like holding your hand, too.”Jisung plummeted back to earth, and his first course of action upon rearrival is tightening his grip on Hyunjin’s hand. Linking their fingers even closer together. Pressing his own thumb into the elegant knuckle of Hyunjin’s.“Are we still rivals?” It probably shouldn’t have been the first coherent thing Jisung said in a while, but he justhasto know. Can you hold hands with the dude your life’s mission is to beat? Ateverything?Hyunjin shrugged, but kept their fingers knitted together. From that alone, Jisung knows he's won. At least, this specific battle.“Sure. We can be enemies and still hold hands.” Hyunjin said, easily.Or: Jisung first challenges Hyunjin to an arm wrestling match so he can beat that punk into proverbial pulp.Jisung challenges Hyunjin to an arm wrestling matchagain,because he soon finds out that holding his hand ismuchbetter than beating him into proverbial pulp.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 55
Kudos: 337





	1. Chapter 1

“Hyunjin, I challenge thee to a duel!” 

****

Jisung announced with appropriately dramatic flare, puffing out his chest as he thrust out a hand. “Arm wrestle me, bitch!”

****

Hyunjin only looked up from his phone screen when he realized Jisung will not be leaving his side any time soon. That he's _serious._

****

Hyunjin’s gaze slunk up from the device, slow and languid and already severely unimpressed. Tired, as if Jisung’s presence alone made him realize how little sleep he got last night. “ _Thee?”_ he parroted with a scoff, “where are we, Shakespearean England?” 

****

Jisung seethed at his rival’s flippant attitude, clenching his fists and pinching his brows in irritation. But he won't be discouraged! Not this early into the fight! 

****

“Just arm wrestle me, alright? I've been pumping iron with Chan hyung recently, and I wanna show how much stronger I am than you.” Jisung said, with steadfast confidence, as he gestured with his chin at the dining room table. It's empty. Maybe not for long.

****

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but when he slipped his phone into his jeans pocket Jisung knew he'd won. “ _Fine,”_ he grumbled, his infamously plush lips still curled in a frown. “But if this becomes another argument, I _refuse_ to let Chan hyung lock us in the bathroom again to ‘sort out our differences’.” Hyunjin continued, punctuating his statement with a heavy, exasperated sigh.

****

He soon tacked on, “I’d probably break and stick your head in the toilet this time. Try to drown you in there.” 

****

Jisung was not only unfazed by the not-thinly-veiled threat, he laughed in the wake of Hyunjin's morbid promise. “C’mon, man. There's no _way_ you could drown me in the toilet. There's not enough water! My ears would be dry, so I'd be fine.” Jisung nonchalantly waved away Hyunjin's declaration with a flick of a twiggy wrist.

****

Hyunjin looked left, looked right. Looked left again, until his eyes landed back on Jisung. The rapper is simply standing before him, lanky legs in surprisingly elegant contrapposto as he awaits Hyunjin’s next move. No, that was not a joke. There is no hidden camera prank going on in their dorm. Jisung seriously said that. Seriously. 

****

“You….” Hyunjin mumbled, in strained disbelief. “You think you can _breathe_ through your _ears?”_

****

Jisung’s lips quirked up at one corner, along with a raise of a brow to match. As if he'd won some grand prize and Hyunjin came in dead last. “What, you _can't?”_

****

Hyunjin can't deal with _this,_ is what he can’t do. Nope! Cannot deal with this, with _him,_ with his goddamn unending torrent of nonsense. That much is clear, from a single gander at the glower on his handsome features. 

****

But Hyunjin threw his hands up in defeat, and popped off the sofa nonetheless. “Let's just get this over with,” he scratched at his forearm, leaving light red trails of angry red on the exposed skin. “I think your idiocy is giving me a rash.”

****

That's _all_ Jisung needed to hear. The _get this over with_ part. Not the _very obviously fake rash_ part. 

****

Jisung could hardly contain his excitement, as he all but skipped over to the table. The table which is very much _not_ empty anymore. He can’t _wait_ to beat Hyunjin! To prove how much better Jisung is than him! He can almost _taste_ the victory on his tongue, and it’s honey-sweet and addicting. 

****

Jisung pulled out a seat and sunk down, propping his elbow on the polished wood. His eyes are hard and focused, trained solely on his opponent. Scrutinizing his every move. Hyunjin took his sweet time strolling over, movements all water-like grace and ethereal fluidity. Even him just _walking_ looks like a newfangled dance move. It's not fair, Jisung is starting to think. 

****

But finally, Hyunjin snatched up a seat of his own, opposite Jisung, and steadied his own elbow on the surface. 

****

Without another word between them, Jisung and Hyunjin clasped hands. 

****

And that's when the world turned upside down and inside out. 

****

That's when Jisung's unshakable confidence decided to fly south for the winter.

****

Hyunjin's hand is _nice._ Like, _extremely_ nice. To hold. In his own hand. They're not even _holding_ hands, fully. They're just clasping palms, and Jisung's heart is already starting to pound.

****

It's not fair! Why does his _arch enemy’s_ hand have to be so damn supple! And velveteen! And _warm?!_ It's like a cashmere blanket was sewn onto his wrist and given human form! It's not _fair!_

****

Jisung has never had this much prolonged contact with Hyunjin's hand, because he's never had _reason to._ Hyunjin and Jisung are fabled rivals at JYP, and on the list of the best way to beat your nemesis at _everything,_ ‘hand holding’ seems pretty low on the index. The closest they've gotten to hand holding is when they got into a vaguely physical altercation in the dance studio, and balled up matching, rageful fistfuls of each other's training clothes. So, not close to hand holding _at all._

****

Jisung is forcefully roused from his Hyunjin’s-hand induced trance with the sound of bone smacking into wood. The dull _smack_ of flesh colliding with a table face. _His_ bone. _His_ flesh. 

****

Hyunjin had done that. He had all but _smashed_ Jisung's offered arm into the table with enough power to leave a Jisung-shaped indent in the wood. He lost. 

****

He lost because he was too busy relishing in the warmth and softness of Hyunjin's hand! He lost because he was staring at the gentle bumps of his knuckles! At the elegant curve in his long, lithe fingers! He was hypnotized, as if Hyunjin’s flesh seeped magic spores into Jisung’s body, leaving him numb and defenseless and _entranced._

****

He was beat by his nemesis because he was lost in the sauce that is Hyunjin’s hand in his. Goddamn Jisung's weak, gay heart! 

****

Hyunjin’s stoic expression cracked. Let mischievous light seep in between the divots. Now, he's smiling. Now, he's smirking at a stunned Jisung like a wolf cornering its prey. 

****

Hyunjin gave a patronizing shake of his head, as if genuinely disappointed that Jisung was defeated so easily. As if he truly expected better of him. “Yeah, all that working out with Chan hyung is _sure_ paying off, Jisung. Keep up the good work.” His sarcasm is so palpable, Jisung swears he felt it rake across his skin like a sharpened blade. 

****

Hyunjin released their hands—Jisung's still limply pinned to the table—and made move to push out from the table. Their match _is_ over, after all. And it only took ten goddamn seconds, because Jisung was too busy committing every millimeter of Hyunjin’s hand to memory. And if that’s not bad enough, Jisung's heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight of Hyunjin (and his hands) poised to make his exit. 

****

“Wait!” Jisung sputtered, unconsciously shooting from his seat to try and halt Hyunjin’s leave. “R-rematch?” 

Hyunjin did in fact wait, at Jisung's plea. When he turned around, despite the severe roll of his eyes, Jisung knew he'd won this specific battle. 

****

“Alright,” the dancer drawled, as he sat back down opposing Jisung. His features are mellow, yet the glimmer in his eyes shows there is _something_ ghosting beneath his cool and collected demeanor. “If you want me to cream you _that badly_ again _,_ who am I to say no?” 

****

Hyunjin offered up his hand. Offered it to Jisung, generously. 

****

Jisung felt his mouth water, as he stared at that hand. At the delicate little lines in his palm. At the way his pinky curls inward, taking his ring finger down with it. At his spotless, perfectly trimmed nails that shine with clear varnish. How his digits are vaguely squared at the tips. How prominent veins meander under milky skin. How masculine yet delicate his hands are. How they're like a physical contradiction of rugged beauty and fuzzy idealism. 

****

Suddenly Jisung is giddy. So giddy, he had to consciously stop himself from bouncing in his seat. Which, Jisung can only assume, is not the proper arm wrestling stance. 

****

Jisung found himself grinning like an idiot, as he slapped his hand to Hyunjin’s and _squeezed._ God, it's so _warm._ So soft. Jisung never wants to let go. 

****

And this is his _arch enemy_ we're talking about here! The kid Jisung gets into screaming matches with on the _daily._ The boy he had to be locked in a _bathroom_ with as a last ditch attempt for them to create _some_ semblance of a peace treaty. 

****

That boy is Hwang Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin, who has _the_ nicest hand Jisung has ever had the pleasure of gripping in an arm wrestling match. 

****

In fact, Jisung doesn't care about beating him anymore. He doesn't give two shits about winning over Hyunjin and proving his strength. He thinks he'll live with himself if he throws this war, and lets Hyunjin take it.

****

Because if there's _one_ thing Jisung knows about Hyunjin, it's that he’s as competitive as they come. And that he _loves_ winning. _Especially_ when that victory is over one Han Jisung. 

****

So with that thought in mind, Jisung mellowed his hand in Hyunjin’s. Softened his fingers, and drew strength from his wrist until it is nothing more than a limp noodle in the dancer’s grasp. 

****

_Smack!_

****

No more than thirty seconds later, Hyunjin slammed Jisung's arm into the table face once again. The flesh of his wrist stung, with how his knobby bone collided with the wood, but the ache is offset by the spun-sugar comfort of Hyunjin's hand still holding his securely down. 

****

Jisung sighed, almost wistfully. He could get used to losing, at this rate. 

****

“Rematch?” Jisung asked, innocently. Eyes wide and pleading, his bottom lip pushed out and trembling. 

****

Hyunjin didn't even make a move to leave the table this time. He didn't even bother taking a few seconds to think, all to make Jisung squirm in silence.

****

His smirk deepened, making his already dark eyes shimmer like sparkling ebony. Hyunjin’s lips quirked, and Jisung got a full view of his perfect, rounded teeth. Jisung's teeth aren't perfect like that. He has a crook in his front tooth. Hyunjin’s beauty is so effortless, no matter _what_ Jisung could do to get near his level he’d _always_ come up short. He used to hate Hyunjin for the sheer _perfection_ he's achieved, without even trying. Jisung's resentment is _still_ prickly in his gut. By doing nothing except _existing,_ by virtue of nothing except being _himself,_ Hyunjin is exceptional. Jisung hates it. Jisung hates _him_ for it. But maybe now he hates him less. Maybe his fiery disdain has been tempered by the addicting weight of Hyunjin’s (perfect) hand clasping his.

****

Maybe. 

****

Jisung still blames his weak, gay heart for the stark dip in his _I Hate Hyunjin Meter._

****

“Ready to eat table, Jisung?” Hyunjin mused, wiggling in his seat for optimal Jisung-beating positioning. 

****

Jisung shrugged, feigning naivety. “If you think you can, Hyun’.” 

****

Oh, Hyunjin knows he can. _Jisung_ knows he can. It's not like he hasn't vested Jisung twice already, with power to bruise the delicate flesh of his twiggy little wrist. With such ease, Jisung’s arm might as well be fashioned out of nothing but toothpicks and twine. Maybe he _should_ up his reps in the gym. Or maybe not. He won’t beat Hyunjin today, but that’s ok. He can deal with a little bit of forced ignorance and pretend weakness, for now.

****

If it means he gets to hold that hand again. 

**_  
  
  
  
_ **

💪 

**_  
  
  
  
_ **

The sun is beginning to set, shining concentrated bronze light through their living room window.

****

Hyunjin slammed Jisung's hand onto the dining room table, like clockwork. The clatter of his flesh and bone smacking the thick wood face rang through the empty room, like a thunderclap.

****

“Damn, not again Hyunjin!” Jisung mock-whined, curling his lips into an exaggerated wince. “That's the 15th time in a row!” 

****

Hyunjin basked in Jisung's rousing defeat, utterly oblivious to the rapper's ulterior motive. He’s sitting loose limbed and triumphant in his opposing seat, without a worry of Jisung overtaking his winning streak. In fact, Jisung hasn’t _won_ at all to speak of. So Hyunjin is none the wiser, and his hand is still covering Jisung's. Still keeping it effectively pinned to the hardwood. Still dwarfing his in size and warmth and beauty. If you asked Jisung, he’d say without a doubt that he’s the real winner in this situation.

****

Until Hyunjin shrugged his broad shoulders, as he gazed at Jisung through hooded eyes. 

****

“I don't know, Jisung,” Hyunjin quipped, a knowing smirk now pulling onto his lips. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're losing on purpose.” 

****

Jisung's blood froze in his veins. His heart bucked against his ribs, as if trying to escape. 

****

Hyunjin is undeterred by the obvious draining of all color from Jisung's face. “It's almost like,” 

****

Jisung braced himself for impact. He unconsciously squeezed Hyunjin's hand until his own fingers turned white. He grasped for purchase against the terror knocking on his door, and his only lifeline is Hyunjin. 

****

“You're trying to keep my hand in yours?” 

****

There it is. Jisung knew it was coming from the depths of his soul, but the casualness of the observation still exploded in his ears like firecrackers. Burned his skin like rogue sparklers.

****

It seems Hyunjin isn’t as oblivious as Jisung previously thought. He's more intuitive than he was giving him credit for. 

****

“I-I, um,” Jisung began, out of nothing except an instinctual compulsion to prove Hyunjin wrong. “I was, um,” he probably should have formed an excuse of some sort, before venturing out on his path of verbal destruction. 

****

Hyunjin stroked his thumb over Jisung’s. The gentle ministrations woke him up like a bucket of cold water to the face. Like a block of ice down your shirt. 

****

Jisung is spluttering like a malfunctioning machine, coughing out random syllables as if he's sick with a nasty cold, and Hyunjin is rubbing tender circles into the back of his thumb.

****

Hyunjin is still holding his hand. 

****

Even after everything, he didn't let go. Not yet. 

****

In fact, Hyunjin took it upon himself to change the positioning of their clasped hands.

****

It took some wiggling of his impressive fingers, but Hyunjin soon managed to pry Jisung's own digits open. He soon wedged his fingers between the spaces of Jisung’s. It was a bit of a challenge, with how the rapper’s fingers are numb and lead-heavy in his stupefaction, but Hyunjin eventually completed his mission.

****

He laced their fingers together, fully. 

****

Now, they're _actually_ holding hands.

****

And if Hyunjin’s hand grasping his from the periphery was life-changing, their fingers intertwined has allowed Jisung to ascend to a higher plane of existence.

****

“It's ok, Jisung.” Hyunjin mumbled, words slightly muffled from the dopey smile stretching his lips. And maybe it is ok, now that Hyunjin mentions it. Maybe it always has been.

****

“I like holding your hand, too.” 

****

Jisung plummeted back to earth, and his first course of action upon re-arrival is tightening his grip on Hyunjin’s hand. Linking their fingers even closer together. Pressing his own thumb into the elegant knuckle of Hyunjin’s. 

****

“Are we still rivals?” It probably shouldn’t have been the first coherent thing Jisung said in a while, but he just _has_ to know. Can you hold hands with the dude your life’s mission is to beat? At _everything?_ Is that allowed?! 

****

Hyunjin shrugged, but kept their fingers knitted together. Thankfully. 

****

From that alone, Jisung knows he's won. At least, this specific battle.

****

“Sure. We can be enemies and still hold hands.” Hyunjin said, easily. With complete, utter seriousness. 

****

Jisung couldn't contain the smile that burst forth, bunching the rounded flesh of his cheeks in turn. 

****

“Cool,” Jisung mumbled, because he couldn't force out anything more profound. 

****

Until, his eyes darkened. His goofy grin sharpened at the edges. Became devilish.

****

He raised their hands up, until their elbows are propped firm on the table. He made eye contact with Hyunjin across the table, and winked.

****

“Rematch?” 

****

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, and momentarily squeezed Jisung's hand. He kept their fingers laced, despite it being awkward in their new perpendicular angle. Which is also probably not the ideal arm wrestling stance. 

****

But when has that stopped them before? 

****

Hyunjin returned Jisung's wink, and hunkered down in his seat. Ready for action.

****

Jisung now realizes he’s been the winner all along. 

****

“Rematch.” 


	2. Beat you to the punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….surprise!! bet u didn't expect a part two of this, did ya >:~) well, i didn't either ! until….the one and only @minhoesdeprimaverapqesflordetrolo commented smth Fluffy (abt hyungsung holding hands but still trying to punch each other) on part one and...here we are!!! ur the bestest and 10/10 an actual angel sorry i don't make the rules 
> 
> enjoy part 2! <3

Chan walked in the door at 8:07 p.m., visibly haggard from a full day of producing at the company.

****

He walked into the dining room, and his eyes immediately popped open; as if he somehow fell asleep on the walk home from the company, and now the  _ true  _ madness of his dream has taken shape.

****

Chan walked into the dining room, only to find  _ Jisung  _ and  _ Hyunjin  _ holding hands. Jisung understands his visceral reaction, of course. It's rare—nigh  _ unheard of— _ to see Jisung and Hyunjin acting with any semblance of social grace in general, when faced with the unsavory proposition of putting the two in a room together. The sight of the two rivals tenderly, almost  _ lovingly _ lacing their fingers together while sitting across the table? 

****

Yeah. Jisung gets why Chan just about looks like he's caught in a fever dream.

****

“ _ What… _ ” Chan murmured in strained, compulsory English. His already thick accent made the single, telling reaction wobble even harder. 

****

“What is going  _ on?”  _ He added, now in vaguely frantic Korean. As if Jisung and Hyunjin are about to engage in a very languid, sensual wrestling match. 

****

And honestly? Given it’s  _ them  _ in the midst of uncharacteristic skinship, that very well might happen in the not so distant future.

****

If only Jisung knew how he was jinxing them, in that very moment. 

****

None the wiser of what's about to come, Jisung cocked his head at Chan’s physical shock. It's mock naivety, because he  _ understands  _ Chan’s severe stupefaction. He’s just jumping at the chance to chap his beloved leader’s hide, as always.

****

“We’re holding hands, hyung.” Jisung mused, with a bob of his chin at their clasped digits in question. Yes, hours have passed and Hyunjin’s hand is  _ still  _ just as soft and warm and addicting as it was before. Yes, Jisung would rather willingly admit Hyunjin has him  _ well  _ beat in the “nice hands” department, than let go and save his pride. 

****

They stopped their great-arm wrestling olympics a  _ while  _ ago, but the pair share the unspoken sentiment that they'd be remorseful to let go. 

****

Hyunjin nodded, a coy and equally coquettish grin on his lips. “Yeah, Channie hyung. We’re holding hands.” 

****

Chan looks just about ready to scream. His brows pinched, as his famously pallid skin flushed with an influx of heat.

****

_ “Why?!”  _ He all but screeched, plodding into the dining room with newfound determination. “Did you two get into another fight while I was at the company?” He growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Hyunjin, and then moving the incriminating digit to Jisung. “Is this...how kids fight these days?” 

****

Jisung rolled his eyes at Chan’s theatrics, and took it upon himself to stroke a thumb over Hyunjin’s knuckle. Still so soft. Still  _ so  _ warm. He  _ never  _ wants to let go; even when they eventually retire to bed, or at practice the next day, or when they fucking  _ debut.  _ That’s right—Han Jisung wants to debut in Stray Kids with Hyunjin’s hand held in his. 

****

And in an even more startling turn of events, he’s  _ completely  _ okay with that revelation. 

****

“We’re not fighting, hyungie,” Jisung sing-songed, melody off key and shrill from the residual fire prickling his skin from their prolonged contact. “Hyunjin’s hand is just... _ nice.”  _

****

And it is—and Jisung cannot  _ believe  _ he just said that.  _ Out loud,  _ for the aforementioned dancer to hear. 

****

Hyunjin preened across the table, as if another notch of victory can be added to his metaphoric belt. He puffed out his chest, unconsciously tightening his grip on Jisung’s hand, and drawled, “Yeah, hyung. Jisung’s hand is nice, too. I  _ guess.”  _

****

Jisung huffed at the return of his rival’s flippant attitude, but the scrunch of his nose is severely offset by the gentle cradling of his fingers between Hyunjin’s. He chose not to argue because, for once in his goddamn life, Hyunjin is  _ right.  _

****

“ _ Nice…?”  _ Chan wheezed in somewhat-horrified English once again, as if the change in tongue will help him process this any better. His lips pursed into a wince, as he unpacked the sight before him and the accompanying explanation the pair offered up. Invisible gears visibly turned in his head, as his scrutinizing gaze flicked from Jisung, to Hyunjin, to Jisung, to Hyunjin. 

****

His cheeks are tellingly flushed scarlet, all the way to his ears. 

****

At Chan’s continued silence, Hyunjin’s eternally sultry gaze slunk back to his hand. He focused on how his fingers fit perfectly between the space’s of Jisung, on how Jisung’s thumb occasionally strokes nice and deep into the joint beneath his knuckle. He quirked a brow, partly judging but moreso devilish, before electing to speak again.

****

“Ya know what  _ else  _ would be nice, hm?” He posed, voice sickeningly sweet and dripping with faux-innocence. 

****

Jisung, as always, is too entranced by the heat and weight of Hyunjin’s hand in his to realize Hyunjin is baiting him. He’s still too lost in the softness of Hyunjin’s palm by the time he answers to realize he just took it. 

****

“What?” Replied Jisung, mindlessly. Naively. He chomped down on the bait Hyunjin cast, and the dancer’s eyes darkened as he readied to reel him in. 

****

Hyunjin smirked, “If you could  _ dance  _ better, at practice tomorrow.” He squeezed Jisung’s hand as he said, as if a physical punctuation mark on the jeer. 

****

Chan’s blush drained in the wake of Hyunjin’s sentiment. His ruby flush of disbelief is replaced with the pale sallowness of recognition in an instant. 

****

Jisung’s eyes flew open, his lips falling and closing and opening again as he processed what the dancer just said. Jisung tightened his grip on Hyunjin’s hand on instinct, as his own full cheeks began to flush. He can't  _ believe  _ this! The  _ nerve _ of this kid! Even during a moment like  _ this,  _ he has to act on his seemingly ingrained desire to insult Jisung and ruin everything!

****

Jisung didn’t let go of Hyunjin’s hand, but he  _ did  _ growl an audibly offended, “Well, maybe if you could  _ rap  _ better, I’d try harder.”

****

His angered volley back did not only hit its target, it hit a perfect  _ bullseye.  _ Hyunjin’s gaze darkened even more, as his thick brows scrunched in distaste. His chest heaved as he sucked down a shivering breath. He chomped down on his plush bottom lip until the rosy flesh turned stark white, increasing his hold on Jisung’s hand until it’s akin to a latched vice on his palm. But he still didn’t let go.

****

“You  _ little—”  _ Hyunjin snapped, before he cut himself off as he shot from his opposing chair. He pulled Jisung up with him, with such force he almost sent the rapper’s dining room seat toppling to the floor. 

****

Jisung rounded the table, towed by Hyunjin’s hand pulling him, and is soon standing chest to chest with Hyunjin. Of course the dancer has some inches on him, but what Jisung may lack in height he  _ definitely  _ makes up for with his patented  _ reserved-for-Hyunjin-only  _ death glare. 

****

“Say you’re sorry, Hwang!  _ Now.”  _ Jisung snapped, his lips curling into a snarl. Hyunjin  _ knows _ Jisung is sensitive about his dance ability.  _ Especially  _ when the tease is coming from one of  _ the  _ top dancers at the goddamn company! He  _ knows  _ how much that angers him, and he  _ still  _ goes about and says it! Jisung lives life with zero expectations when it comes to Hyunjin, but this is a new low for him as far as the rapper is concerned.

****

Jisung’s hackles are already raised, but the divots pinched in his forehead only deepen as he shoots daggers into Hyunjin’s beautiful, infuriatingly-perfect face. 

****

“I’ll apologize when  _ you  _ apologize, Han!” Hyunjin easily shot back, his disgustingly exquisite features scrunched in rage. God, even when he’s  _ mad  _ he’s gorgeous. Jisung still stands by the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is  _ not fair.  _ Period. End of story. 

****

Jisung tamped down the innate urge to throttle Hyunjin with both hands. “You insulted  _ me  _ first, dumbass!” 

****

Hyunjin and Jisung sent each other matching growls for their troubles, and at that moment Chan jolted into action. Why it took him so long to step in is beyond Jisung—probably thanks to the still lingering disbelief that he  _ not only  _ walked in on Hyunjin and Jisung willingly holding hands, but that they  _ admitted  _ to it with ease, to boot. 

****

The relaxed atmosphere has long since departed, and now the air is thick and stale with such pregnant tension, Jisung wouldn’t be surprised if it formed an invisible barrier and kept Chan separated from the pair at each other’s throats. 

****

“Stop!” Chan implored, reaching up two placating hands as he cautiously approached the two. As one would a duo of wild animals, brains and hearts clouded with instinctual fury. 

****

“You both are fighting while holding  _ hands,  _ for god’s sake!” Chan added, wildly gesturing at Jisung and Hyunjin’s hands. They’re  _ still  _ knitted together. “Just break it up,  _ please?”  _ The leader begged, lacing his own hands together as if in prayer. As if mimicking….Hyunjin and Jisung’s? 

****

Jisung forgot they’re holding hands, in the fire and fury of the moment. The heat of Hyunjin’s hand was switched with the blinding heat in his heart; as Jisung focused on the familiar weight of Hyunjin’s palm in his his, the anger faded just as quickly as it arrived. 

****

“Oh,” Jisung whimpered, unconsciously swinging his and Hyunjin’s hands together. His gaze fell to downward and, rather than training his eyes on the grains of the floorboards, Jisung focused on the picture-perfect image of their hands still clasped together. 

****

Hyunjin at least had the decency to look equally as sheepish as Jisung, if not even more taken aback. His lips pursed, as he loosened his white-knuckle grip on Jisung’s hand. Jisung didn't even realize how painful his tightened hold was, until his bones ached with the mellowing of the dancer’s fingers.

****

But it was okay, that sting in his joints. It was okay, because it was Hyunjin’s hand. And by virtue of that, it was okay. 

****

“I guess we are,” Hyunjin whispered, gesturing at his chin at their hands. Even when they were about to rip into each other, they still kept their hands together. 

****

So  _ that's  _ why Jisung didn't throttle Hyunjin; he must have subconsciously knew he wasn't able to, because of their hands laced together. Or something like that. Huh. They should hold hands more often—it’d save  _ a lot  _ of altercations, if this is anything to go by. 

****

Jisung just got a great idea, in fact. 

****

He stuck out his other hand, right towards Hyunjin. His fingers are splayed and mellow. It is an offering of peace.

****

“Truce?” He asked, hopefully. His gaze returned to Hyunjin, and Jisung found himself smiling at the sight of the dancer; masculine cheeks reddened, perhaps with regret. Eyes glassy, perhaps with longing for better times. 

****

Hyunjin’s lips twitched open in surprise, at Jisung's offered free hand. He looked right into his eyes, silently, as if asking for permission.

****

Jisung nodded, and inched his hand even closer to the dancer. 

****

Hyunjin grasped Jisung’s other hand with his, and laced their fingers together—a perfect mimicry of their opposing hands, still together after all these hours. After  _ everything,  _ they never let go. 

****

If  _ one  _ of Hyunjin’s hands in Jisung’s was mind numbing,  _ both  _ Hyunjin's hands in _ both  _ of his is enough to make Jisung’s knees turn to jelly. 

****

“Truce.” Hyunjin said, and Jisung can tell by the genuinely dulcet tone of his voice that he means it. 

****

Instead of glowers of all-too familiar anger, Jisung and Hyunjin are now leveling each other with real, toothy grins. It’s not a mutual apology per say, but it’s  _ progress,  _ when concerning Hyunjin and Jisung. 

****

_ This is good,  _ Jisung thought, his molten rage now replaced with wonderfully-jittery excitement. His skin tingled, nerves alight with the sensory overload that is both their hands tenderly held.  _ I’ll keep this in mind for the next fight.  _

****

Because realistically, there  _ will  _ be another fight. And if they can put an end to their incoming argument with a bout of hand holding, Jisung will be counting the  _ minutes  _ until Hyunjin hurls another insult at him. 

****

He still hates Hyunjin, he thinks, but maybe...he hates him a  _ little _ less. He’s still snide, and pretentious, and  _ rude,  _ but he’s got quite the appealing soft side to him as well. Or maybe Jisung is just in love with his hands. He’ll have to think about it. 

****

Chan sighed, brimming with resignation and relief at another crisis averted. The pair would have completely forgotten about his presence, had he not purged the weighty exhale from his lungs. 

****

“Just…” Chan grumbled, absentmindedly popping some of the kinks in his finger. “Keep holding hands, okay?” 

****

Hyunjin and Jisung nodded, wordlessly. Hyunjin pressed the pad of his thumb into Jisung’s own, and  _ somehow _ , everything is perfect again. 

****

“Okay, hyung.” Jisung mumbled, dazedly. 

****

Hyunjin took the reins next. “We can do that.” 

****

Chan nodded, a single tired bob of his head. He turned on his heel, sent the pair a rightfully suspicious glance over his shoulder, and muttered, “I need a nap.” under his breath. Jisung can't blame him. 

****

_ Just keep holding hands,  _ Chan’s advice echoed through Jisung’s head. He and Hyunjin are still grinning at each other, as if they  _ didn't  _ attempt to tear each other's throats out mere  _ minutes  _ earlier. It’s strange, but Jisung is finding himself feeling.. _.differently  _ about the dancer. 

****

Maybe he definitely hates him less now. 

****

He doesn’t need to think about it any longer. 

****

Jisung hummed happily, and focused on the silky smooth warmth of both Hyunjin’s palms on his. It’s good enough. They can talk about the ins and outs of their complicated relationship later. 

****

Jisung squeezed Hyunjin’s hand, as if a silent promise.  _ I think we can handle that.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to post this….we hate to see it

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing idiots w benefits!Hyunsung can u tell 
> 
> If u enjoyed pls consider leaving a kudo as support <3 Also um guess who wrote a 23k magical realism hyunin....it was me. I did that. I hope u like hyunin and magical realism bc I’m in too deep now uwu 
> 
> I miss being on ao3 sm hhhh ive barely had time this last month :(( ill be back more regularly in july !! Pls keep streaming and voting <3


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